


Why Weren't We Able

by itsleese



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Cheating, Cuckolding, F/M, Frottage, Unrequited Love, Vaginal Fingering, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:02:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25457458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsleese/pseuds/itsleese
Summary: Tsukki spends a lot of time with you while your husband works away. It's for Tadashi's sake. To watch over you for him. At least, that's what he tells himself.
Relationships: Tsukishima Kei/Reader, Yamaguchi Tadashi/Reader
Comments: 14
Kudos: 287





	Why Weren't We Able

**Author's Note:**

> This is a cheating fic. If you don't like it, please don't read it! <3

Tsukishima knows its not right, the way he looks at you. The way his eyes drag up your legs, ghost over your ass, your tits, the stretch of your neck—

Oh, how he’d _kill_ to leave bruises there; mark you up, hear whimpers leaving your parted lips, _feel_ the sound vibrate against his mouth as it travels up your throat—

But he _can’t_.

He’s reminded almost daily.

You invite him around for dinner because it’s just habit. He sits at the breakfast bar while you flitter around the kitchen in your loungewear— a pair of very soft black leggings and a matching hoodie. Its cropped. And while your leggings sit high over your hips, there’s a sliver of skin that he drinks up each time you bend over, or reach up to fetch something from an overhead cupboard.

You’re telling an interesting story about your day while your stir at the pot on the stove. It’s something about work, and he knows he should be listening, but he’s sitting there, staring at your ass, envisioning himself tearing those flimsy pants down, shoving his face right between your cheeks, and eating you up.

“Dontcha think?” You toss him a look over your shoulder, pouting.

He plays it safe with a non-committal shrug that has you huffing brattily and rolling your eyes.

“Well, I think if you’re gonna ask someone to marry you, you at least have a time frame, you know? I don’t wanna be that woman who’s engaged for ten years, I wanna be _married_.” You whine, and its cute, he thinks, if he takes it out of context.

But he _knows_ the context, and it irks him, clenches at his heart.

“Tsukki, you’ve gotta try and convince him for me.” You’re bringing the pot over to the breakfast bar—carefully balancing it by the handles, tongue sliding out in concentration— and sitting it on the wooden chopping board. “ _Please_ , Kei?” You beg, those eyes he loves so much wide and pleading, staring directly into his soul. It doesn’t help his case that you’re using his first name, a thing you only do when you really need something from him.

“Nothing I can say is going to change his mind.” He rescinds, but you’re quick in scoffing, levelling a glare with him.

“I’m pretty sure he loves _you_ more than he loves _me_.” You’re turning on your heel, stomping over to the other side of the sizeable kitchen, stretching up to retrieve two bowls from an overhead cupboard, the stretch showcasing that delicious dip in your spine that he only sees when Hinata hosts pool parties at his penthouse. “Seriously,” you’re frowning, putting the bowls down in front of him. “I think I’m just a standee, Tsukki. He’s probably more jealous of me, that you keep me company while he’s away.”

He sighs, adjusts his glasses on his nose as he regards you. “That’s stupid.”

“Probably true, though.” You clip back, taking the lid off the pot. He watches the rich aroma of basil and garlic and peppers waft out with the steam, then you’re scooping in your pronged ladle, serving the pasta with a pout on your lips. “I’m not kidding. We got drunk one night and he said you were his soulmate.”

 _That_ makes Kei laugh. “We’ve been best friends for years, that’s all it is.”

“Right, well you can keep telling yourself that.” You replace the lid and glance back at the fridge. “Do you want cheese?”

“Nah,” he shakes his head, then you’re shoving forks into the bowls and sliding him his. You’ve piled in too much pasta, but he’ll eat it all. For you. “Can get me a scotch, though.” He grins slyly, looking up at you over his lenses.

Partly because he knows if he drinks, you will. And partly because you’re gonna have to stretch, flash him the smooth skin of your torso again, to reach the bottle.

You nod, excited because you _love_ a drink, even on work nights. After collecting two short glasses from the cabinet, you’re fetching two large cubes of ice from the freezer and dropping them in, before finally, you’re reaching for the scotch. The angle gives him a peek at the skin of your ribcage, a quick flash of the underside of your bra— hot fucking pink— but just as quickly as he sees it, its gone.

“No cola, don’t—“ He starts, because that bottle was _expensive_. But you’re cutting him off with a sigh.

“Don’t ruin the booze. I know, Tsukki.” You poke your tongue ay him over your shoulder.

“Bring the bottle in, we’ll drink it.” He says, standing up and reaching for his bowl, then yours. He knows you intended to eat there on the stools, but he also knows you wont argue if he takes the reins.

You’re just _that_ submissive.

The dining table is more intimate, the lighting less harsh. He sits your bowl next to his, and takes a seat, looks up just in time to see you precariously juggling the bottle and two glasses in your hands.

“You make everything look so difficult.” He scolds gently, standing up to take the bottle and a glass from your hands, fingers drawing subtly along your own in the process. He takes a sip from his glass as he places the bottle on the table and takes his seat.

“Apologies, your highness.” You sass, putting your drink down, and sliding into yours.

You ‘convince’ him to stay the night. He pretends to argue, but you’re a lightweight, three drinks in, and adorably stubborn.

After dinner, you chatter about work and messily scoop the leftover spaghetti into containers, while he rinses the dishes and stacks the dishwasher. He cant help but play into the fantasy that this could be his: the house, the normality, you.

“Tsukki,” your tone changes, its inquisitive, but cautious. Then you’re sliding up to lean your lower back against the counter next to him—hips almost touching— looking up at his face. “Are you ever gonna get a girlfriend?” Your head tilts a little and he resists the urge to touch you.

“You’re full of stupid questions tonight.” He frowns, but your grin spreads.

“Do you already have a girl you like..?” You pry, pushing closer, your scent— jasmine and vanilla and something _darker_ — clouding his senses.

“If I _did_ , why would I tell _you_?” He asks smoothly, cocking a brow down at you. Surprisingly, your smile never falters.

“Because I’m your favourite girl, and you need my approval.” You say simply, folding your arms under your bust, pushing those breasts together and _up_.

He laughs dryly, averting his eyes. “I do _not_ need your approval.” Then he’s turning his back to you— job finished— and heading back out to the living room.

“Yes you do!” You object, chasing after him. “If she hates me, then we won’t get to hang out together anymore.” You complain as he swipes up both empty short-glasses, the half-full bottle of scotch.

When he looks down at you, you’re pouting. Such a cute little brat. “Aw, would you miss me, princess?” He asks teasingly— probably a little _too_ darkly, but you’re drunk, so you shouldn’t really notice.

But you _do_.

Your cheeks flush a deep rosy colour and your eyes widen, but you quickly avert your gaze, brows scrunching together as your pout deepens. “You’re such an asshole.” You grumble, heading past him and into the lounge-room. “Let’s watch a movie.”

 _Interesting_.

“So, you would then?” He asks, following you. You fall onto the couch, pull the lever and recline it, remote already in your hand, pointing it at the TV.

“You’re so dumb, Tsukki, of _course_ I’d miss you.” You sigh, glancing at him as he takes the spot next to you, leaning forward to place the glasses on the coffee table. He briefly meets your eyes, before pouring you both a glass, handing you one.

“Well, if you’d miss me, I guess I’ll have to stay single forever.” He knows he’s pushing the boundary, knows he should stop, but the way you react is just too delicious. He places a cushion over his lap—concealing his growing excitement— and leans into the plush microfibre sofa, arm draped behind you.

You take a long sip from the glass and keep your eyes on the television. “You’re really staying single for Tadashi, aren’t you?” You mumble, finally choosing a movie— something hes sure you’ve seen a hindred times— and tossing the remote onto the coffee table with a loud _smack_.

“How about we play a game?” He suggests, watching as your face lights up, gaze meeting his.

“I like games.” You grin. He _knows_ you do. “Truth or dare?” You pull your legs up under your bottom and turn to face him fully, take a sip of your drink.

“Nothing leaves this room, though. Can’t even tell Tadashi.” He says evenly, taking his own sip from the glass. “That’s my rule.”

“Easy done, Tsukki.” You finish your drink, sit the glass on the sofa cushion between the two of you. “I wanna go first!” You smile, he rolls his eyes gently, but nods. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.” He says easily. Starting the game off slowly.

You’re practically buzzing with excitement, and very drunk. “Ha-have you ever made out with Tadashi?” It almost comes out too fast, and you bite your bottom lip as you patienly wait for his answer.

Wow, you’re very hooked on the idea of them being secret lovers, arent you?

Still, rules are rules. “I have never touched your fiancée inappropriately. Not even on the lips.”

“What?” You whine, disappointed, face in your hands. “Never? Not _once_?”

He shakes his head, picks up your glass and leans forward to refill it before holding it out for you. “Truth or dare?” He inquires, eyes dipping down your top as you lean in and take the glass.

“Ah…” you tap your chin, take a drink. You’re not cringing at the burn anymore, and your eyes have glassed up. “Truth…?” Then you’re leaning your shoulder into the back of the sofa, brows raised at him expectantly.

Shit. What does he want to know?

“Do you really love Tadashi?” He asks, the question always sitting ghete in the forefront of his beain, booze finally giving him the strength to ask.

You frown, offended. “Of course I do—“

“No, no, _really_. Just between us, nothing leaves the room.” He says calmly, folding an ankle over his knee and taking a sip from his glass.

You contemplate an answer, and his chest swells with excitement. “Kashi looks after me.” You say meekly, eyes on your ankle as you toy with the hem of your leggings. “He works really hard, and he bought us this house, and he’s so sweet and gentle—“

“Not an answer.” He cuts you off, brows raised. Impatient.

_Just say no already._

“We’re not _in love_ , I don’t think.” You admit sadly. He leans forward to still your fingers fiddling with your leggings, looks you in the eye.

Aw, you’ve got _tears_.

“It’s okay,” he soothes, taking his hand back and tapping your glass; silently urgijg you to drink more. “That’s what happens in relationships. They become less abojt the romance and more about the partnership.”

You do as he says, then level a look at him. “Does he talk about me?”

“Uh-ah, you didn’t ask truth or dare.” He says, sucking his teeth.

You roll your eyes. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.” He grins. You groan and slap a hand to your face, visibly getting pliant, floppy.

“Uh… I dare you to…” He can tell you’re too tipsy for this, that you’re stressing about what you’d admitted to him during your round.

“Dare me to tell you what Tadashi loves most about you?” He offers, trying to cheer you up some. Yeah, its nice to watch you squirm with huilt, but he likes your smile much, much more.

“Y-yes,” you gasp, leaning closer to him— just a touch. “Is it my cooking? My personality—“ he cuts you off with a soft finger drawing along the underside of your left breast, watching as it trails up and over where your nipple might be.

“These,” his voice is a whisper as he takes his finger away, looks up at your flushed face. You didn’t stop him, didn’t move a muscle. “He’s always talking about how perfect your breasts are.”

Fuck, he wants to touch them. Squeeze them, lick them, pinch and bruise them; make you scream and beg for _more, Tsukki, please_.

Under his cushion, his cock throbs painfully.

“Does he really?” Your voice is small, and you sit up straighter, take a breast in each hand and _grope_ them, glass empty on your lap.

He coughs to hide the groan that escapes his lips, but you don’t notice anyway, too busy surveying your chest over your clothes. “Truth or dare?” He asks, and you blush as you let go of your breasts, finally realising you’re fondling yourself in front of him.

“Dare.” You say bravely, bottom lip between your teeth.

Easy. This is a little too easy.

“Take your top off.” He finishes his drink, reaches for your glass and leans forward to refill them.

He expects you to argue, to pout and resist. What he doesn’t expect, it to turn back to hand you your drink, and see you sitting there—cross-legged— in your leggings and hot-pink bra.

“Thanks,” you sigh, taking the drink. “I was overheating in that thing, anyway. Truth or dare?”

“Truth.” He says, too quickly, eyes on your chest, shoulders, arms. He had no idea the effect a simple tshirt bra could have on his cock, on the beat of his heart.

“When we all met, that night at the group date,” you start, and his heart lodges itself in his throat at the suddenly coy look on your face. “Why didn’t you ask for my number? I thought you liked me.”

Oh, no.

He just has to tell the truth, doesn’t he? “Honestly?” He shrugs, trying to keep his eyes on your face. “He called dibs.”

Your eyes bug out. “What?”

“Yeah, he saw you first, and called dibs. Even if I wanted to ask you out, I couldn’t.” He explains, traitorous eyes delving back to your cleavage, cock painfully hard in his jeans.

“…Did you want to?”

“Uh-ah, my turn. Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Does Tadashi make you cum?”

“Rerely; truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Did you wanna ask me out?”

“Yes; trith or dare?”

“Dare—“

“Leggings off.” Your fingers loop into the waistband of your leggings, and you kneel up on your knees, dragging the stretchy fabric over your ass and down your thighs, revealing your stomach, hips, and a shiny, black thong.

He could touch you. You’re a hairs breadth away, woozy and compliant, and oh so sexy.

When you get your pants to your knees, you fall back on your butt, swing your legs over to rest on his cushion. “Take ‘em off, Tsukki.” You demand, watching his face as you take a sip from your glass.

It takes every ounce of his self-control not to overstep, to just take the fabric in his fingers and glide it down your legs. When he’s done, you don’t move your legs, just cross them at the ankles on the cushion.

“Truth or dare?” You ask, and he suddenly feels like the prey. Do you know? Just because he admitted he wanted to ask you out _seven years ago_?

“Truth.” He says evenly, eyes locked on yours.

“Do you wanna fuck me, Kei?” You tilt your head, eyes half-lidded. “N-nothing leaves the room.” You remind him, finishing your drink.

He hesitates, but admits it. “Yes. Truth or dare?”

“I think I… always knew,” you smile, leaning closer to him. “but I wonder if its just because Tadashi has me, or because you’re actually attracted to me?”

“Truth or dare?” He repeats, throat tight under your stare.

You lean back against the sofa, finish your drink and hold your glass out to him. “Truth.”

He sits your glass on the coffee table, but doesn’t refill it. “Why do you keep inviting me over when Tadashi’s not home?”

“Tsukki,” your groan, voice starting to slur. “Why are you asking such weird wuestions?”

He scoffs. “Its not weird.”

“It _is_ ,” you throw your arm over your face, hiding your eyes in the crook of your elbow.

“I think you need to go to bed.” He chuckles, tapping your ankle gently.

“No! Im fine,” you sit up, take your legs back to tuck them under your ass, thighs pressed together. “I… I invite you over ebcause I like your company.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do—“

“You’re not allowed to lie.”

“I like the way you look at me, okay?” You blurt, face hot with embarrassment. “I know you don’t mean it, but y-you look at me like you… I dunno, you wanna eat me or something, and I like it.”

“Like I want to fuck you, right?” He asks, heart pounding a rhythm in his chest as he leans just a little closer to you. When you don’t flinch back, he licks his lips. “Because I _do_.” Then he leans back.

You moan, then, a full-fledged erotic melody that has him almost creaming his pants. “Wh— Hypoth-thetically,” you hiccup, sitting up a little taller, wetting your kips with your tongue. “What would you do to me?”

He downs the rest of his drink. “You’re playing a dangerous game.” He says, little glare on his face.

“Please, Tsukki, just _tell_ me. Tadashi, he— he’s a good man, but I’m so touch-starved.” You beg, tears welling in your eyes. “God, you mus’ think I’m s’awful.” You cry, your face falling into your hands.

He reaches for you as a reflex, big hands encircling your wrists. “I don’t want you to make a decision you’ll regret.” He says, pulling them away from your face. “You’re drunk—“

“Kei…” You whine, breathless. “I need you to _touch_ me. _Please_ , I—I needa cum s’ bad.”

He clenches his jaw, but doesn’t make a move. “I cant, princess.” He breathes. “You’re not _mine_.”

“Please…” you whine, a tear slipping down your cheek when you slam your eyes shut.

 _Shit_ , isn’t this what he wanted? You, begging him to fuck you? A horny, crying mess, putty in his hands?

“You’ll regret it.” He breathes, his face falling into the crook of your neck, scenting you, your perfume, your _sweat_.

“I _wont_ ,” you whine in his ear, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Kei, I— I wonder all the time, w-what if it was _you_? What if i’d gone home with you, like I _wanted_?”

His resolve snaps.

He lifts you, pulling your legs either side of his hips and falling on top of you, his mouth descending on yours, tongue slipping inside. You moan, pushing your hips up to meet his, fingernails digging deliciously into his back as you rub your tongue along his, ankles crossing behind his ass.

God you feel too good beneath him. The pretty little thing he’s been lusting after for _years_. Yearning for like some sad fucking puppy.

Then he’s touching you, hand sliding between your bodies, into your soaked— oh, fuck, _so_ wet— panties, pressing on your aching clit with two fingers and rubbing it between them slowly, feeling you writhe and groan against him.

“Kei— ah, _Kei_ , m- _more_ ,” you gasp, breaking the kiss. He sits up a little higher, tries his best to study you, to commit this scene to memory.

“You’re so wet for me.” He grunts, his cock pressing painfully against his pants; you nod, tears in your eyes as you murmur his name over and over and over again.

 _His_ name. Not Tadashi’s.

“Fi-finger me, Kei,” you beg, reaching for him and sending a shiver down his spine. His glasses slip off and fall to the floor as you pull him towards you, your tongue sliding over his ear, breath panting against it.

He obliges with a shiver, two long digits pressing into your silky heat, crooking upwards, searching for that textured spot that he knows is there, that he _knows_ will have you coming undone on his fingers. His other hand pushes your bra up to your neck, and he slides down, lips at your breasts, tongue teasing your nipple before he rolls it through his teeth.

The sounds you're making, the way you _feel_ , its too much. He ruts against the back of your thigh in time with his fingers, groaning against your flesh, eyes slamming shut at the sheer amount of pleasure he’s feeling from just humping you like a starved teenager.

Your fingers dig into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer, as your whole body begins to arch and press against him. You’re close. So close even _he_ can taste it.

Its easy, he thinks, so _fluid_ and _right_ and _perfect_.

“You should be _mine_ ,” he growls, pulling off your breast to kiss your mouth, swallowing yelps and cries and moans. “Shouldn’t you?” He growls, sitting up and sliding his hand around your neck, fingers still working into you as you get sloppier and sloppier with excitement. “Answer me!” He nearly yells, frantic, grip on your throat tightening.

You’re nodding, eyes wide, both hands reaching for his wrist, strangled moans vibrating against his palm.

Too tight— he-he’s being too _rough_.

He lets up just a little, and you inhale a lungful of air. “Yes!” You shout, fingers digging into your hair, eyes slamming shut. Seconds later, your mouth is hanging open, eyes rolling back, cunt clenching down on his fingers so fucking _good_ that he cums in his pants with a groan.

Like a fucking teenager.

Your release drips down to his wrist, wetting the couch beneath your ass; he marvels at it for a moment, before collapsing on top of you, breathless. Surprisingly, your arms circle him, lips pressing gently to the top of his head.

Shit, he wishes this was different. Wishes you weren’t engaged to his _best_ _friend_. Why the fuck does life need to be so cruel?

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, the weight of what he just did crashing down on him. He orchestrated the whole thing, plied you with booze until your were warm and wet, took advantage of you. He’s disgusting.

“Kei,” you whisper, a yawn leaving your lips. “Kei, ‘ts okay.” You coo, trying to soothe him. “We just can’t tell Tadashi, ‘kay?”

“Easier said than done.” He grumbles, heart full because he’s holding you, but a sick sinking feeling in his stomach because it cant last. Because of Tadashi.

He’s about to open his mouth and say something else when he hears it: the telltale sound of your front door closing. His heart jumps to his throat, and he sits up, sliding off of you, scurrying for his glasses.

“Baby?” You both hear from down the hall.

He looks down at you and his heart stops.

Tadashi’s home.


End file.
